


The Problem with Flying

by TheBashfulPoet



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Summer Exchange 2019, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Reporter!Andrew, Reporter!Neil, Secret Identity, Superman / Lois Lane vibes, slightly Pining Andrew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 12:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBashfulPoet/pseuds/TheBashfulPoet
Summary: Andrew has a problem and it starts and ends with Neil fucking Josten. At first, he was only annoying — always popping into Andrew’s life at the most inconvenient times and making it more complicated at every turn. Then he was amusing, a break from the mundane that were people and his daily life. But now, now he was just a problem — a problem Andrew was finding that he didn’t know how to handle or solve.Or 3 times Andrew has to hide his secret identity from Neil + 1 time he didn'tAFTG SUMMER EXCHANGE FIC!





	The Problem with Flying

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for the lovely @jojen-hewitt! I'm super sorry it's so last minute, life has been high-key a mess, but this prompt was sooooo much fun to write! I hope you like it!

_The problem with being able to fly_

_Is that I never knew what falling felt like_

_Until I met you_

_\- Shane Koyczan "For Lois"_

**i. Back Alley Rescue**

If Andrew knew that being a superhero meant having to save people on his way to work, he never would have donned the damn cape. Not that he had much of a choice in the first place. Who knew that distracting your drunk mother on the highway would result in a car crash with a toxic waster truck and that said truck would contain some mysterious and highly experimental drug that would give him superpowers. (Yes, he’s very much aware of how much his life has become some cliché comic book origin story and yes he does hate every bit of it.) Still, he blames the cape itself on Nicky.

Though he must admit that it comes in handy in situations like the one he’s in currently – the cape catching most of the air friction of his descent into the alley behind what appears to be a mugging going horribly bad. The mugger is a tall burly man at least compared to Andrew and his victim whose lithe stature is dominated by the bulk of his assailant. Andrew watches as the man brings back a fist to hit the man when he decides to step in.

It is laughable how easy the man goes down, his balance thrown off by Andrew yanking back the arm further and using that momentum to hurl him towards a pile of garbage next to a dumpster. The moment his attacker is airborne, the man slumps to the ground, unable to hold his weight any longer without the support. A quick look tells Andrew that he’s still breathing and otherwise alive, so he turns to back towards the first man.

Now if he had more time — and was so inclined — he _might_ drop his latest criminal catch at the police stations — seeing how that is the only way the pigs seemed to catch anyone these days and ever then sometimes Andrew had to step in — but today he was late. A glance down at his watch tells him that if he didn’t leave within the next few minutes Wymack was sure to catch him sneaking into the office; normally he wouldn’t care but Wymack had been on his case about being on time this week because of some new reporter he was hiring and wanted to create a good impression on. In fact, he threatened that if Andrew was late another day this week, he was going to sign him up for that marathon across town.

If there was one thing Andrew didn’t do, it was run.

So, no trip to the police. This order was strictly pick-up only. He quickly crosses the gap between him and the man and hefts him up by the back of his collar and reaches for the dumper. As he opens the lid, a wave of stench hits his nose as the smell of days-old garbage assaults his senses. The man starts gagging and fighting Andrew’s hold, but his fingers are as strong as steel and the only way he was getting out was if Andrew let him. Which is exactly what he did. He dropped him into the dumpster and closed the lid, bending the metal bar over the top and securing his temporary jail cell until the police showed up and set him free. For his sake, Andrew hopes they came sooner rather than later.

A soft groan pulls his attention back to the man’s victim who had managed to get his feet back under him and steady himself against the brick wall. Though he has a hand wrapped tight around his stomach, so maybe he’s in worse wear than Andrew originally thought. He glances at his watch once more; if he jumped the rest of the way, he would still make it in time. That is if, this man didn’t trap him in the usual fawning people gave him when he rescued them (he barely tolerated that on a good day, let alone one starting as shitty as this one had).

With a silent curse to his luck, raises his gaze to meet the man’s, mouth open to ward off any breath of thanks or adoration in favor of having him call the police so he could wash his hands of the situation entirely when he’s met with the glaring blue eyes. Really, the man’s entirely face is shocking — bright auburn hair that starkly contrasts the slight tan of his skin, the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and the sharp angle of his jaw that Andrew swears he could cut himself on. All in all, the man is very — for lack of a better term — pretty but what really draws him in are his eyes. Every thought in his mind dies along with the words on the tip of his tongue as he realizes that he’s never seen that shade of blue in his life.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

“Nope,” His response is automatic even as his mind restarts itself and process the fact that the man has been talking at him while he staring. Only then does he take in the purpling mark below those the left of his eye and the slight gash at his temple from where the mugger probably slammed his face into the wall. A shame really, his face was almost too pretty to want to break.

“Fucking great,” he throws his free hand in the air, “Not only did I have to deal with fucking touchy dumpster boy over there, now I have to deal with Mr. Witless Wonder over here. Tell me, do the spandex cut off the circulation to your brain or are you generally this brainless?”

Andrew stares at him blankly, but he hardly seems to pay attention as he struggles with pulling his phone out of his jean pocket and checking the time. “And now I’m late for work. Fucking perfect.”

Now, there has not been a lot of times in Andrew’s life that he can genuinely say he’s been surprised or even mildly shocked. When he found out that he had a twin brother? Sure. When Nicky showed up on their doorstep and took them in after Tilda’s death? Yeah. The fact that he made it to twenty-five and was a fucking _superhero_ of all things? Possibly. But listening to this complete stranger call him witless wonder in the face of the fact that Andrew just _saved him_ from a violent mugging, certainly left him stunned. Most people would be halfway into tears or profusely offering their thanks as they gushed over meeting him, but this man offered no thanks, no praises, and most certainly no adoration. No, the only thing Andrew got was contempt and mild irritation like _he_ was the inconvenience in this man’s day.

“You know, most people would say thank you,” he founds the need to point out, mostly because he enjoys being contrary but also because he’s curious as to why this man didn’t.

“For what?” He asked incredulously like it wasn’t obvious.

Maybe Andrew should be worried that the man got hit harder in the head than he originally thought.

“How about taking care of that mugger?”

“What that asshole? I had him handled.”

Yup. Definitely concussed.

“He had you pinned to a wall and was ready to bash your skull in against the brick wall.”

“Please,” Andrew’s eyebrow twitches at the word, but otherwise he says nothing. “I’ve been hit harder by my friend’s four years old. At least she knows how to throw a proper punch.”

“And yet he clearly managed to do some damage anyways. Ergo, you’re welcome from stopping him, especially since it looks like your mouth got you into a fight you couldn’t finish.”

“I could finish just fine. Guys like him only think they can pick on anyone smaller than them and they will just take it.” He pauses and looks over Andrew. “You should know the type, seeing as how you’re even smaller than I am.”

Andrew is beginning to see why someone tried doing the man’s head in now. He’s quite feeling the urge himself at this moment.

“Whatever, I have to get to work,” the man waves him off. “I don’t need to get fired for being late before I can even begin my first day.”

He bends down and retrieves a leather messenger bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder all while not letting go of his stomach despite the fact that his face twinges with the movement.

“Thanks for nothing I guess.”

And wit that he’s gone, jogging down to the mouth of the alley and disappearing around the corner all while Andrew watches in stunned silence. It’s only when there is a metallic bang from the direction of the dumpster that he’s reminded that he never got to tell the man to call the police and report the mugging. Meaning he was going to have to deal with it now. He looks at his watch.

He was late.

* * *

He almost made it to his office when Wymack caught him.

“Damn it, Minyard, how many times do I have to tell you that 9 o’clock means 9 o’clock, not 9 fucking 30!” he yells across the room where he’s standing and talking with Wilds. “And today of all day when I specifically told you not to be late for any reason. We’re trying to set a good example for the new rookie. Speaking of, Matt!”

Boyd’s head pops up from the stack of books on his desk, “Yeah boss man?”

Wymack rolls his eyes, “Where is our new reporter? He was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago.”

“Uh,” Boyd taps on his phone. “Neil said that he ran into a little trouble on his way into the office and would be a few minutes late. Oh! He’s on his way up now.”

As if summoned, the elevator dings as the metal doors open to reveal a man Andrew has already had the displeasure of meeting today. If he goes a little too still for a second too long, it goes unnoticed as his coworkers turn in greeting towards their newest rookie.

“Josten! You’re late!” Wymack barks.

Neil walks out of the elevator, his hand no longer pressed to his stomach but a slight limp in his step in its place. “Sorry, I got held up.”

Wilds sighs, “Is this like last time where you say you got ‘held up’ but really your life was in danger… _again_.”

Yes.

“_No_,” Neil huffs. “It was only a minor mugging. I had it handled.”

“Mugging!” Wymack, Wilds, and Boyd shout.

He waves them off. “Don’t make a fuss about it. He only stabbed me a little, what’s important is that I found my next story!”

“I’m sorry, is he talking about a story when he just said he was _stabbed_ _in a mugging?_ Why is he even here? He should be in a hospital!”

“Yeah,” Dan rubs the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “He does that. Best to just let him get it out before you try to make him go to the ER. Otherwise, you’ll be fighting him the whole way.”

She turns to Neil. “What’s your story?”

“Witless Wonder.”

“Who?” Boyd asks.

“You don’t mean-” Wymack starts.

“I can’t fucking believe-” Dan sighs.

Neil smiles an awful sharp smile that sets those blue eyes ablaze as he looks at each and every one of them. “I’m going to expose Palmetto’s very own superhero.”

Well. Fuck.

**ii. Mobs and Dance Clubs**

Neil Josten is a menace, Andrew decides. Not only was the man hell-bent on exposing his secrets to the world — up to and including his secret identity among various other tidbits about his life (something Nicky found vastly amusing whenever he read an article dedicated to “goth-aesthetic”) — but the man was a trouble magnet.

In the month that he has been working for The Daily Fox as their newest crime reporter, Andrew has had to save him as his alter ego — now fucking named Mr. Wonder thanks to Neil’s articles (though perhaps he should be glad that the Witless was at least dropped among the general populace) — no less than four separate times with each one escalating from the last. If it were anyone else, Andrew would think that he was doing it on purpose, maybe even engineering these situations himself as a means to getting Andrew’s attention, but from the stories Boyd and Wilds tell, Neil just seems to attract any and all facets of danger from psycho stalkers to crazed killers. If you asked Neil, he’d chalk it up to his criminal upbringing at the hands of his father, but Andrew was thinking that it was probably that smart mouth of his.

Case and point, Andrew had just raided a dance club well-know for being a front to the Russian mafia only to find Neil tied to a chair surrounded by a couple of thugs and a bloody smile on his lips.

“Witless Wonder! I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t show up for a daring rescue. I’d like you to meet my friends Generic Henchman one and his buddy Generic Henchman Two. They’ve been real pals while I’ve been waiting on their bosses.”

Andrew gives him a blank stare as the two men whip around and reach for the guns on their hips. He goes for the one on the left first since he’s closest to the door he’s standing in, tackling the man into the wall and effectively rendering him stunned.

“For once, can’t you step out of your house _without_ getting yourself kidnapped or maimed? Or is this some kink of yours I should know about because if so tell me now and I’ll leave you alone.”

The guy on the right successfully pulls out his gun but before he can squeeze the trigger Andrew sends his partner tumbling into him. The gun clatters to the floor as the two men slump together before falling together to the ground in a slump. He gives them a good kick to make sure they stay down.

“Aw no flirting while I’m in the middle of work. Save it for later.”

Several more men fill the door, each one standing over 6 feet and with arms the size of tree trunks.

“Shut. Up.” Andrew grits out as they come charging at him, ducking and weaving between their punches while dolling out his own and protecting Neil from any stray blows. He’s almost tempted to let one slip by when the man has the audacity to _laugh_.

“But you like when I talk.”

And the thing was, Andrew _did_. He liked Neil’s smart mouth way more than he should. Liked how he never seemed to respond to things the way people normally did. How he always had some witty and biting remark ready on the tip of his tongue at any moment. How he was never afraid to speak his mind no matter how ugly or hurtful the truth may be (even though he could wield lies just as sharply). Andrew like how when at work Neil would be the only one to pick up on his subtle jokes or would meet his eye whenever their coworkers did something extremely stupid. Neil was interesting and Andrew _liked_ that.

Only when the goons were down and tied up in a pretty bow for the police did Andrew finally allow himself to fully look at Neil. His lip was split and yet another black eye was blooming along one of his cheeks (a signature accessory for Neil Andrew was learning) and that damned bloody and sharp smile on his face.

Andrew sighs, “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave you tied to that chair for the police to find.”

Neil’s smile grows as he lifts his hands to show the hidden switchblade he has in his palm and the cut rope that falls to the floor helplessly at his feet. “I told you I was working. Check the headline tomorrow in The Daily Fox; I’m sure you’ll get the full story there complete with tidbits from these idiot goons as they tried to interrogate me all the while incriminating themselves and their bosses.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief. “Maybe I’ll even give you a shout out.”

Like Andrew said, a fucking menace.

“Does this mean that you’re finally moving on from my ‘exposure’?” he scare quotes. “I’m disappointed. I think I’m much more interesting than some petty Russian mob scandal.”

He laughs. “Oh don’t you worry, this is only Friday’s piece. You know Witless Wonder stories are for Wednesdays. I could never give you up.”

Andrew hates how the words make his stomach flip.

Neil folds the knife back up and sticks it in his jean pocket, but when he pulls his hand back out, in it rests a tiny black recorder — its red light blinking as an indication that it was still recording. He holds it out to Andrew.

“So how about a quote _Mr. Wonder_.”

Andrew stares him dead in the eye as he says, “I hate you.”

Neil only smiles.

**iii. Rooftop Rescue**

Andrew has a problem and it starts and ends with Neil fucking Josten. At first, he was only annoying — always popping into Andrew’s life at the most inconvenient times and making it more complicated at every turn. Then he was amusing, a break from the mundane that were people and his daily life. But now, now he was just a problem — a problem Andrew was finding that he didn’t know how to handle or solve.

It started the day Wymack partnered them up on an article about the rampant corruption and abuse happening in the foster care system in America — a topic Andrew found hit too close to home but refused to give up to any of his coworkers regardless. At first Andrew was determined to settle down and do the entire thing himself without even acknowledging Neil, but as he quickly learned while Neil was grossly reckless and downright stupid about his own well being when it comes to a story, he was as equally passionate about and talented in his work and wasn’t about to take the backseat on any story with his name on it. Thus, Andrew found himself holed up in an office well into the middle of the night sitting side by side with Neil as they poured over thousands of articles and data sheets researching.

At some point, Neil had sprawled himself across the floor at Andrew’s feet and started asking him questions, which then led to Andrew asking him questions in return and little by little Andrew started letting his walls down. He told Neil some of his own horror stories from being in the system since he was an infant — told him of the too nice homes that hid some of the worst abuse he faced as a child. In return, Neil whispered stories from his childhood as the son of the infamous and cruel crime lord the Butcher, of how when his father ran out of victims he would turn his hatred and malice on his own son. Neil told him of how he helped the FBI burn his father’s empire to the ground and made sure that he would never see the light of day again besides through the gaps of prison bars. They traded truths back and forth until the sun began to rise in the sky and the light bathed Andrew’s office in hues of pinks and oranges that only made Neil seem more impossible.

Something shifted in their dynamic after that. Andrew found himself gravitating towards Neil when they were in the vicinity of each other, sometimes for more truths traded back and forth and other times simply to bask in his silent company as they both worked. Neil seemed to do the same, often slipping into Andrew’s office when the others got too loud on the floor or joining him for lunch to complain about his latest story or lead. And Andrew — certified loner and personification of antisocial tendencies — liked it. _He liked Neil._

And therein lied the problem. Because he liked Neil and here he was with a gun pressed to his head with some psychopath holding him against her chest as they stood on the edges of The Daily Fox’s 40-floor skyscraper.

“I’d knew you’d show up! You always seem to when it’s involving Junior here. Tell me, does daddy know that you've gone and got yourself a little superhero boyfriend. Something tells me he wouldn’t approve.”

Neil pauses in his struggling against her grip. “Oh, do you promise? Maybe I’ll tell him on my next visit. I have it scheduled two days from _fucking never_.”

“Tsk tsk, Junior. Is that any way to talk to your mother-in-law?” The woman shakes her head. “I’m going to have to teach you some manners.”

Andrew talks a step forward. “Drop the gun and step away from him, _now_. I won’t give you another warning.” He takes another step.

“Ah, ah,” the woman points the gun at him. “Another step and I’ll pull this trigger. I don’t know if it will kill you, but at this range, it’s definitely going to leave a nasty hole in that pretty body of yours.”

Neil struggles even harder at her threat. Her expression turns positively gleeful.

“Oh Junior, tell me you’re not stupid enough to actually _care_ about this man? Daddy taught you better than that.”

“_Fuck you_,” Neil spits. “I hope you rot alongside him in a cell.”

“You _do_ care. Hm,” she hums. “I wonder if he feels the same.” She moves the gun back to Neil’s temple. “I wonder how he would react if I put a bullet into that pretty little head of yours while he watched.”

Neil stills, his eyes snapping to Andrew’s as if they are begging him to turn away. Andrew does not. Instead, he locks his jaw and readies himself to tackle the woman down before she ever has the change to pull the trigger.

“Then again, I think it would hurt you more if I made you watch him bleed.” And with that, the woman swings the gun back at Andrew and squeezes the trigger with two quick twitches of her finger. Neil screams as the air fills with two loud bangs.

The gun goes off once and then another time, each bullet aimed at the center of his chest and bounces harmlessly to the ground. Andrew takes another step forward, ignoring the slight sting where they hit.

“Oh phooey,” the woman frowns. “Now that won’t do at all.”

Another step.

“Let. Him. Go.”

Her face twists into a sickening smile. “Poor choice in words.”

It happens in slow motion.

The gun lowers.

Neil’s eyes go wide.

Andrew reaches out.

The woman turns and pushes Neil over the edge until he is

Falling

Falling

Falling.

Andrew doesn’t even think before he’s diving off the roof after him. Which is a problem seeing how — despite the common misconception people seem to have about him — that Andrew cannot fly. What most people thought of him as flying was really him just jumping really high and then gliding on the air currents on his way down to the ground where he could jump again. He was subjected to gravity just like everyone else, hence why he was now stuck in freefall after Neil off a 40 story skyscraper with the ground rapidly approaching. The fact that he was mildly perturbed by heights didn’t help the matter either.

But he dived headfirst after Neil and forced himself to fall even fasted until his fingers found the course material of Neil’s jacket and he was able to yank him firmly into his chest. Neil’s body curled into his own, Andrew’s arms coming around his torso to secure him to Andrew’s body and support his neck as they tumbled to the earth. He hears nothing but air and the rapid noise of on-coming commotion and traffic. Andrew doesn’t hesitate before he rolls them over until his back is facing the ground and Neil is tucked safely in his arms and cushioned from the coming impact. When they hit, all air is knocked from Andrew’s lungs as the sound of metal crunching all around them fills his ears.

For a second he lays there, Neil still wrapped in his arms, and a dull ringing in his ears filling his head as the world rightens itself once more. After a moment he’s able to pick his head up and see that they landed on the hood of some poor taxi. He wonders if they crushed its passengers. The thought is wiped from his mind when he looks down and meets those fucking blue eyes, once more filled with fury and contempt.

“Are you fucking insane?!” Neil snaps. “You could have died!”

“I told two high caliber bullets at almost point-blank distance and didn’t even get scratch. I think I proved that I’m basically indestructible. All that not including the fact that we just fell over 40 stories and landed on a _fucking car_ and are having this exact conversation.”

“That’s beside the point!”

Andrew lets his head drop back down, already too tired to deal with him anymore. “And pray tell what _is_ the point, Neil?”

“You can’t fucking fly Andrew!”

He sits up. “What did you call me?”

“Your fucking name you absolute and complete moron. What else would I call you besides reckless suicidal idiot with no sense of self-preservation or common fucking sense?”

“That’s rich coming from you and don’t think I don’t notice you sidestepping the issue here. How do you know my name?”

Neil looks at him exasperated. “Andrew I’ve known you for almost a six months now. I had you pegged as Mr. Wonder from day one and confirmed it by the end of my first week. Your disguise is fucking _glasses_ of all things. It wasn’t hard.”

“And yet it still took you a week.”

“To _confirm_ it. Also, shut up, I’m not reckless. You don’t see me jumping off of building when I can’t fly.”

“No, you just attract the psychopaths that push you off them.”

“Fair point.”

Andrew’s head falls back down. “You’re a fucking menace, Neil Josten.”

He can feel the smile in Neil’s voice. “But you like me anyways.”

“I hate you.”

“You jumped off a roof for me when you couldn’t fly. I don’t think I believe you anymore.”

“Shh, the only thing I want to hear out of your mouth is either silence or a thank you for saving your life _again_.”

Neil crawls up his chest to look him head-on, those blue eyes lit up and that dangerous smile on his lips. “Thank you. You were amazing.”

**+1**

Andrew was late to work again, but this time it had nothing to do with back alley muggings or other superhero activities and everything to do with the smart-mouthed redhead curled in his bed and draped across his chest. Their bodies are slick with a sheen of sweat and their muscle loosened with a bone-deep satisfaction that has them sated and sleepy despite it being well past the time they should be up and ready for work. The radio is still on from when Neil came back from his morning run and flipped on the news to listen as he got ready (before Andrew pulled him back into bed and thoroughly took him apart), the host’s voice a steady drone as he reports on the weather and traffic in Palmetto’s downtown district. It’s peaceful and nice, two things Andrew never thought he’d get to enjoy in his life, let alone with someone like Neil at his side.

“We need to get up. Wymack’s going to kill us if we’re late again,” Neil mumbles into Andrew’s chest.

He grunts in response. “You first.”

“Mm, carry me?”

Andrew snorts, “No thanks I do that enough as it is when I have to save you ass three times a week.”

“Excuse you, I have dropped down to only one perilous rescue a week thank you very much.”

“Talk to me when you get it down to zero.”

“Never. How else would I get to see you in those spandex pants?”

“You could just ask?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Andrew looks down at him, soaking in that sharp, dangerous smile and those bright blue eyes that he still couldn’t name the color of, and pulls him tighter against his chest.

“You’re a fucking menace, Neil Josten.”

“You like it.”

He did.

**Author's Note:**

> You know the funny thing is, this is not at all how I imagined the story going. There were a ton of different paths I had thought it would go, but when I sat down and wrote it, this is what came out. Not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with it, but I did have fun and really that's what it all comes down to in the end.


End file.
